The Space Between Ash and Silence
by EpsilonPax
Summary: Set after the events of Infinity War; Rogers and what remains of the team struggle with the aftermath of Thanos' actions, when an unexpected ally seeks them out to deliver grim news.


**_Author's Note: The events of this one-shot are set after both Infinity War and my story "A Little Trust Goes A Long Way." I am currently marking this as complete, but may add more to it in the future._**

 ** _Thank you for reading!_**

 ** _# # #_**

 _If I erase my mistakes_

 _If I relive this day_

 _If it all goes away_

 _Am I still human?_

 _I try to feel myself_

 _But my skin is cold…_

 _While I fall asleep_

 _Paint a universe_

 _On the ceiling_

 _Then it consumes me_

 _Now I'm pulling everything to pieces_

… _I'm falling down_

 _Falling infinite_

 _( Black Math, "Falling Infinite")_

 _# # #_

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

With unseeing eyes, Steve Rogers gazed through the expansive window. It's mirror polished sheen looked out upon an unblemished, perfectly manicured landscape. A landscape that was as beautiful as it was empty. It lay fallow, silent and still. Too quiet, too still, too empty. He had thought that perhaps with enough time the numbness of shock would eventually wear away into something more than this agonizing grief. That was why he had to keep moving, keep going. He had to keep all of _them_ going, keep all of _them_ moving.

Because he knew if they stopped, the pain, the grief, the sheer agony of the immensity that was their reality now would paralyze them. Forever.

But they couldn't keep it up. Even with as bad as things were, there was only so much that they could do. Only so much help they could realistically give. Days blurred into weeks, and even Steve feared what would happen to them once they stopped moving long enough for the veneer of shock to thaw out. He didn't want to see, to know, to _feel_ what lurked beyond the numb silence. Steve Rogers didn't know if he was strong enough to face it.

"Steve…" quietly, James Rhodes's voice reached out to him. Vaguely he distinguished the other's reflection in the window pane before him. At the sight of his friend's ghostly image, memory lanced through Rogers, as the truth of the reality of who _wasn't_ standing behind him nipped and gnawed at an already wounded heart.

 _Ash…and silence…_

 _How could he mourn so many?_

 _How could it be real?_

 _All was ash and silence…_

 _It wasn't real…couldn't, couldn't be…_

Drawing a sharp breath in, Rogers once again forced his mind to contend with the solid finality of their position. After weeks of giving all that they could to the world—to what was left, to the survivors—even Rogers had realized they needed to retreat, to regroup. So that's where he found himself now; back home—home where it had all begun. They had only been back at the Avenger complex mere hours, and already the immensity of the place pulled at him, weighed on him in a way no other place ever had. At the time it had seemed like a good idea, like the right thing to do. But now that they were here…who could have guessed so many ghosts could haunt these halls?

Rhodes cleared his voice softly, drawing Rogers once again back to himself, realizing he hadn't given the other any acknowledgement. Without shifting his stance, Rogers briefly inclined his head in the other's direction in the way of a greeting.

"Nat and Banner think they drummed up something edible…in case you're hungry." Rhodes's hollow tone left little doubt as to where he stood on the matter. It didn't surprise Steve.

How could one crave food when everything tasted like ash?

 _All swept away...just ash…_

 _Ash, grey-ghosts and silence…_

 _Without them there was just so much silence…_

 _Ash, grey-ghosts and silence_

 _How could it be real?_

 _It couldn't…shouldn't…shouldn't be real…_

 _Please, don't let it be real…_

Even as Roger's struggled to summon up enough energy to tell James he wasn't hungry, he heard it. The reverberations of pounding footsteps against perfectly polished floors. Nerves strained too tight, held near the breaking point for too long, had him moving before he consciously decided to do so. Heart-heavy and battle beaten, Rogers felt his body tense, steeling for a fight. But it was no enemy that appeared from around the bend, no Thanos come to rob him of this existence of grey silence. Together, Steve and Rhodes turned to see Nat, with Rocket in tow, whip around the corner.

Her eyes, wide with a cacophony of emotions, searched his as she drew to a halt a handful of steps away, "Steve…" her voice was tight, "Steve, there is something you need to see…"

"What is it?" James was there, mind racing, fearing the worst. But what fresh hell could Thanos possibly have in store for them now? What was left to take? Only the grey-ghosts of ash permeated the world now, veiling everything in the gauze of a snowfall only Death himself could rejoice in.

"You got a visitor, Rogers," Rocket looked from one soldier to the other, his luminous gaze forlorn and diminished. Odd how much Rogers had come to trust the raccoon; he had a roughness, a bite—sometimes literally—that reminded him at times of Stark. All that gruff posturing just to shield the heart beneath… _damn it Tony…I lost so much in the what I never said…if only you were here…I could tell you…_ Rogers steadied himself with a deep breath; best not to think of Stark right now.

His tone tight and clipped, Rogers answered her, "I think I can find a greeting for Thanos yet."

Nat stepped forward, shaking her head, "No…Steve…not him…"

"What-?"

But his question went unasked and unanswered as Natasha turned on her heel and promptly jogged back down the hallway she had come, urgency pulling at her every step. Quick to match her stride, Rogers swallowed his confusion until she led him to another expanse of windows, these overlooked the complex's helipad.

Parked patiently outside was a bright yellow Camaro, with twin black racing stripes flowing from head to tail light.

The reality of who was waiting for them—for _him_ —slammed into Rogers, knocking the air from his lungs in a _whoosh._

He had forgotten them.

In the midst of everything, he had forgotten them utterly, irrevocably and completely. Not a thought to spare for them, even as the finality of the present had begun to solidify, Rogers hadn't been able to think beyond the immediate need of humanity. Guilt cascaded through him, deafened him to Rhodes' questions, as Rogers blinked again to reassure himself that he wasn't hallucinating.

The late afternoon sun winked off burnished yellow paint. The Camaro waited.

"Steve…" Natasha breathed, "I hadn't even thought…I completely forgot…"

"I know…I did too…" For the first time in weeks, something other than guilt, something other than pain, than the deep ache of loss motivated him and gave purpose to his movements. Rogers didn't hesitate as his ground eating stride led them all through the complex, down at last into the sunlight and to the helipad.

As they neared the empty Camaro, Rhodes was the only one who slowed, casting his gaze nervously about their surroundings, "Where's the driver?"

The ghost of an almost-smile pulled at the corners of Nat's mouth, "He doesn't need a driver."

There was no hiding Rhodes' bafflement, "What do you mean 'him'?"

From behind them, Steve heard the warm thick hum of Rocket's plasma gun. Immediately, he spun to face the anthropomorphized raccoon, "No, put that away!" His voice held the ghost of its former command, "You won't need it."

Drawing closer to their visitor, Steve paused, wondering if perhaps he should be looking for a 'driver'. After all, when they had last been with the Autobots, remaining true to their disguise was tantamount to law. Before Rogers could settle on a greeting, the Camaro decided on one for him. With a low growl, the still sleek car split at impossible seams, realigning, remaking itself, transforming into something more than a mere muscle car.

Rhodes fell back several paces, "Steve…" apprehension swelled to fill his timber as the bipedal form rose above them.

Nat spoke first as the fully elucidated figure moved to kneel before them, bringing his bright blue gaze to meet their level, "Bee…you have no idea how good it is to see you…" Rogers could almost hear something that sounded close to true happiness in her tone. Almost.

But rather than offer an exuberant greeting, Bumblebee emitted a low and mournful wail, "Captain Rogers…" The soft and unfamiliar electronic voice called to the First Avenger.

"You can talk now?"

Somberly, Bumblebee nodded, "A friend managed to repair my vocal processors…"

Rogers worked to offer the younger Autobot a smile; his facial muscles protested against what had become such a foreign movement, "Bee…it's good to see you." As he spoke he stepped forward fearlessly, reaching up toward the other, his rough palm coming to rest against the other's massive jawbone. Eagerly did the other lean into the touch, aching for the familiarity of someone…anyone…

"So, you know talking robots…" Rhodes commented flatly, unwilling—or perhaps unable—to take his eyes off the hulking, robotic countenance.

"Bee…" Nat spoke as she too moved to close the distance between them. Cautiously, Rhodes and Rocket followed. "Bee…" Nat swallowed thickly, "What are you doing here?"

"Someone want to tell me how the hell a Cybertronian ends up here of all places?" Rocket grumbled, disappointed he wasn't going to get the chance to melt anything, or anyone. "I thought you walking piles of metal were too busy tearing up your own end of the universe."

"Oh, so the raccoon knows what the robot is, too?" Rhodes interjected. He shook his head, struggling to reprocess everything, "Talking raccoons…" he muttered, "…talking robots that turn into cars…just once I'd like to know what the hell is going on."

Rather than answer them, Bumblebee kept his gaze on Rogers, emitting another low and mournful electronic wail, "Captain…what happened?"

Sucking in a breath, Rogers let his hand fall away from the Autobot's countenance, "I'm sorry Bee…I should have called Optimus…I got so caught up in everything, I didn't even think to. Honestly, I'm glad he sent you. I owe you, at the very least, an explanation." At the mention of the Autobot leader's name, Bumblebee's optics dimmed, his vast and strong shoulder struts hunched earthward as if recoiling from a blow. Seeing the Autobot's defeated posture caused the words to dry up in Rogers' mouth.

"Bee…" Nat spoke gingerly, as if every word was potentially dangerous, "Optimus…didn't…send you…did he?"

Bumblebee emitted another mournful chorus. Unable to bring himself to speak the truth aloud, instead, Bumblebee lifted his hand, palm up, and conjured a holographic projection.

It was as if the last two years hadn't happened. Gazing upon the image of Optimus Prime, even in as diminished a form as a hologram, still humbled Rogers; still made him all so aware of his morality, his fragility…just made him feel damn small. Fear beginning to gnaw at him, Rogers watched through what was obviously Bumblebee's perspective, as that noble figure slowly, painfully, sank down to one knee. The great helm bowed, the mighty hands held slightly up and away from his chassis, transfixed as metal harder than Vibranium began to flake away.

He heard Nat's sharp intake of air like a knife; his gut twisted and it felt as though the earth had pulled away from him. Unable to look away, he watched as he had watched all of them, unable to do anything, as Optimus looked up. From his point of view, Roger's felt that piercing cerulean gaze and felt that sonorous timber, like the velvet underside of thunder, in his bones as Optimus spoke.

"Bumblebee…" So much sadness in that voice, so much weariness, "You must go to them…Go to Captain Rogers…" Roger's chest tightened as he watched more and more of that titanic frame flake away. Optimus's voice became fiercely painfully, gentle and mournful all at once, "Defend and protect, Bumblebee…" Rogers heard that mighty timber rasp in pain, "Primus…protect you…" Optimus's frame shuddered, every word now a struggle, "Goodbye…my…old…friend…"

A cacophony of ash, grey silence, those burning cerulean optics extinguished—and the Leader of the Autobots, the Last of the Primes, simply ceased to exist.

Optimus Prime was gone.

Rogers' vision blurred, dimly he was aware of Bumblebee letting the transmission flicker off, dropping his hand. "My Prime…my leader…my _friend_ ," Bumblebee's light tenor trembled, "Is gone…"

Nat recovered first, "What about the others? What about Sideswipe?"

Bumblebee moaned.

"…Ratchet?"

Bee shook his head.

"Dino?" Nat pressed, unwilling and unable to accept the truth. "Jolt?"

The yellow Autobot looked away, warbling a low dirge of soft clicks, unable to meet her gaze amid his pain.

Rogers finally found his voice, "Bee…what about Lennox? Epps?"

Bumblebee shuttered his optics and moaned again.

"I am all that is left, Captain," He spoke slowly, each word another spark-wound, "I…am the last. The last Autobot…the last member of N.E.S.T…" Bumblebee shuttered his optics again, suddenly unable to bear the grief and pity in their eyes, "Even…Sam…" the name came out as a rough, grief-wracked whisper, "I am alone…"

The world spun, the sunlight became hollow and dull; a treacherously empty light that could not illuminate the depths that they were mired in now. Steve found himself paralyzed, beside him Nat was frozen, catapulted right back into the grief they had all been struggling to keep at bay. So suddenly they were right back in Wakanda, left alone, so alone, in that forest with nothing but the silence and ash drifting between them, blanketing the lush forest: death coating life.

Rocket's diminutive shoulders wilted, his featured softened by grief, by the knife edge knowledge of too many friends lost. "You know…this place looks like it has some room to spare…" Rogers turned in surprise at the sound of Rocket's voice. The racoon rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, shifting his blaster in his nimble paws in a restless movement, his voice low and full of gravel "…I bet we could find a space for the bot."

When Nat gave Rocket a small smile, he quickly added, "You know, 'cause the more firepower, the better." Rocket cleared his throat and addressed Bumblebee directly, "But it's not charity. It's not being nice, okay tin-can? You aint gonna freeload here. You gotta earn your keep. So, when we find Thanos again, you have to help us blow him into little itty-bitty bits. Got it?"

As an ember of hope blossomed within Bumblebee's spark, the last remaining Autobot flicked his optics from Rocket, to Nat, to Rogers.

"Bumblebee, you're not alone," Rogers told him, "You can stay here with us, as long as you want or need to."

With a hopeful warble, Bumblebee lifted one hand, digits held up and outward toward them. This time Rogers didn't hesitate to reach back, offering what solace he could to the mighty titan before him through the simple gesture.

"It is good…" Bumblebee murmured, "…to be among friends again."


End file.
